Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

Callie frowns. "What do you mean, changed?"

"I'm getting to that. See, up to that point, porn was pretty much a

'hands on' kind of thing. If you were selling videos, for example, you were up to your neck in the industry. In other words, you'd been on movie sets, seen sex going on in front of you, knew the people, maybe even been in front of the camera yourself. It's always been a very tight, small group. But with Web sites, these early guys, they were a whole new breed. There was a layer between them and the actual creation of the stuff. They had money, and they paid the pornographers for their pics.

They put them up on the Web and charged to view them. You see the difference? These guys weren't pornographers, not in the classical sense. They were businessmen. With marketing plans, offices, staff, the whole nine yards. They weren't coming across as some sleazy substrata of society anymore. And it paid off. Some of those first companies make eighty to a hundred million a year now."

"Wow," Callie says. Leo nods.

"Yeah, wow. It may not seem like a big deal to us, but if you really dig into the history of porn, it was a paradigm shift. To be honest? Most of the people making porn in the early eighties were from the seventies. We're talking a lot of drugs, promiscuous sex, all the cliches. But these new Internet guys? Most of them weren't involved in wife swapping or snorting coke while getting a blow job, any of that. Most of them had never been on a porn set in their life. They were guys in business suits, making millions off the newest thing. They started to make it, well, respectable. As much as porn can be."

"You said 'twofold.' What's the other part of it?"

"While these business guys were carving out their empires, you had another whole 'adult revolution' happening. This was at a more grassroots level. Rather than Web sites that were a collection of pics of professional porn stars, you had women or couples creating Web sites that were centered around themselves and their real-life sexual escapades. These weren't people trying to make a living off porn. These were people doing it for fun. Getting off on the exhibitionism of it. It was called 'amateur porn.' "

Callie rolls her eyes. "You're not talking to babes in the woods here, honey-love. I think most of us know what amateur porn is. The 'girl next door,' swingers, blah blah blah."

"Sure, sorry. I'm in lecture mode. The relevance is, the demand for that type of porn turned out to be just as big as the demand for 'pro porn.' So much so that most of these women or couples couldn't afford to keep it up for free, as a hobby. The costs of having their Web sites accessed by so many people became prohibitive. So they started charging as well. A few of those who started early on made millions. And--and this is the key thing you have to understand--these were not pornindustry people. They didn't know anyone in the adult-video industry. They weren't in magazines, or in videos in adult bookstores. These were people driven first not by money but by the enjoyment of what they were doing.

"Whether or not you or I think this is a healthy way to be, the truth is, it created an entirely new demographic within the porn industry. Moms and dads, members of the PTA. All the while having a secret life and raking in the dough showing themselves off to the world." He turns to me. "So, what I meant when I said you weren't accurate is just that. I saw your friend's Web site. She did soft-core stuff--as in no sex. She did masturbate and use sex toys and . . . stuff like that. She charged for viewing it, and I don't necessarily approve--but she wasn't a hooker." He fumbles with his words for a moment. "I mean, I don't know if that'll help you, when you think about it, but . . ."

I give him a tired smile. Close my eyes. "It's a lot to take in, Leo. I'm not sure how I feel about any of it. But, yeah. It helps."

My mind is spinning, spinning, spinning. I think about Annie, posing nude as a chosen profession. I wonder about the secrets people keep. She was always beautiful, always a little wild. I would not have been surprised by any number of sexual secrets. But this--this throws me for a loop. Partly because I am unsure of my own ambivalence about it. A picture floats into my mind, sudden and unbidden. Matt and I were both twenty-six. The sex we were having that year could only be called spectacular. No area of our home was unchristened. No position had been left untried. My lingerie collection had grown by leaps and bounds. Best of all, none of this was happening because we were working at it. We weren't trying to "spice things up"--things were just spicy all by themselves. We were drunk on each other, cavorting with horny abandon.

I was always the more sexually adventurous of the two of us. Matt tended to be more conservative and quiet. But like they say: Still waters run deep. He could follow my lead into dark territories without hesitation. He'd howl full-throated at the moon right beside me. It's one of the things I loved about him. He was a wonderful, gentle man. But he could shift gears when I needed him to, could be rough and dark and a little dangerous. He was always my hero. But . . . when I needed a little bit of villain, Matt would provide.

We were a modern-day couple. We watched naughty movies together every now and then. I'm the one who would drag him into perusing some of the adult sites on occasion. Always on his screen name. Even though I was Big Brother, I was paranoid about Big Brother. I couldn't afford to tarnish the image of the FBI. So Matt's screen name was the one looking at all the dirty pictures. I'd tease him about this, calling him the pervert in the marriage.

We also had a digital camera. One night during this year, while he was at the store, the impulse struck me. I stripped off my clothes and took a few naked photos of myself from the neck down. Heart pounding, giggling like a maniac, I submitted the photos to a Web site that collected such things. I was fully dressed and demure by the time he got back.

A week went by and somehow I had forgotten about the incident. I was mired in a case. Anything else other than Matt and eating and sleeping and sex was not on my mental agenda. I came home late, exhausted, and dragged my way up to the bedroom. There I found Matt, lying on the bed. His hands were laced behind his head and he had the strangest look in his eyes.

"Something you want to tell me?" he asked.

I stopped, puzzled. Trying to think of anything. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Follow me." He got out of bed and walked past me, heading toward our home office. I followed, mystified. He sat down at the desk where we had our computer. Jiggled the mouse to make the screen saver disappear. What I saw made me blush so hard, I thought my face was going to catch on fire. It was a page on the Web, and there, for the world to see, were the photos I had taken. Matt swiveled around. He had a small smile on his face.

"They e-mailed back. Apparently they loved the pics you sent them."

I stammered. Blushed some more. Blushed harder as I realized that I was getting turned on.

"I don't think you should do that again, Smoky--neck down or not, it's probably not real smart. In fact, it's pretty stupid. If anyone found out, you'd be fired in a heartbeat."

I stared at him, my face still hot, nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you're right. I won't. But . . ."

He arched his eyebrows in that way I'd always thought was sexy as hell. "But . . . ?"

"But for now--let's fuck."

And I was tearing off my clothes, and he was tearing off his, and we ended up howling at the moon. The last thing he said to me before we both fell asleep that night was so funny at the time, so Matt, that it stabs me in the heart to remember now. He'd grinned, eyes half lidded.